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Oscar2

Feb 23, 2010, 12:45 PM

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November 2009 in Oaxaca

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It’s November 2009 at 8:00 a.m., there was a knock on our condo door , the night attendant voiced the taxi we had requested the night before was waiting for us. We got to the Hautulco bus station 5 minutes later and hopped on a first class bus north up the coast to Puerto Escondido. The road was a bit windy cutting seemingly through thick brush and trees limiting ocean views, so we closed the curtains, reclined on the sumptuous seats and caught up with a bit shut eye due to having gone to bed late the night before.

When we started to exit the bus a woman passenger about fortyish, her dark complexion framed a greeting broad ivory white smile as if saying she had happily found something lost and recovered. The smile invited conversation and soon we discovered she had recently lived in beautiful Santa Barbara, California for seven years, and her delight in talking to someone from NOB seemed very special to her. She was a Puerto Escondido native as her parents were and knew PE like the back of her hand. With a warm and kind of exuberance she volunteered to show us one of the more popular hotels on the beach that was reasonably priced. She directed the cab driver to our destination, waited till I made room arrangements and as she left, again, this time she said, I loved living in Santa Barbara… She was born in PE, was back with her family y su Tierra.

It was during the week, PE was quiet, subdued and after staying a night we wanted to explore other beach’s south of PE like Zipolite and Puerto Angel. After the cab dropped us off to catch another bus from PE too Zipolite we were informed the bus drops us off on the main highway 200 where a small collectivo pickup truck transports us down this narrow road to what they called the French Beach. My wife was in the baño when this small green pickup truck pulled up with passengers sitting in a bench like structure telling the driver to wait for her. When we jumped into the back, the truck took off with a gallop and we were on our way. Across from me was this very, very old woman with life’s patterns creasing her pensive face while straddling a live roster between her hands and her lap. I looked at her and with a smile enquired if it was a fighting roster or if it was for the table. She smiled and said, “para la mesa.”

Down this back country sort of road skirting glimpses of seascapes we stopped while a Gringa hopped onto the back of the pickup. She was middle aged, alone in Capri type cargo pocket pants with a floral print top. When she turned around and we greeted each other I seen more than the renegade, lone traveling gal, whose complexion was so light, she was almost transparent. She literally resembled a bit of albino with deep set blazing almost sky blue eyes outlined by the lines of life which mark ones travels. She was exuberant, inquisitive and determined, she had fire in here eyes. When we got to our destination she inquired if we minded her tagging along and of course, we objected but she came along just the same……just kidding..

When we reached the beach and found a little refuge in the shade of a restaurant on the sand, we sat and ordered icy cold limonadas. The blazing blue eyes which accompanied us, was busy searching the scenery like a Chita stalking its hunt and as soon as we met her, she bid us adieu and shot north up the sandy beach toward a coved hillside straddling the beach never to be seen again except here today as she comes alive in print. Of the beach’s we visited, Zipolite was clean, simple which invited a glimmer of impassioned beauty. It was unobstructed by commercialism. It’s beach sand and surf spread wide and clean. Although a few restaurants spotted its beach, the warm ocean waves taunted us to swim. We swam at times in its vigorous bubbly turbulence, It was especially delightful pierced by an ambiance a foreign country can at times provide. The locals called Zipolite the French Beach which connotes clothing optional. I inquired with the waitress, about this and she exclaimed that people are invited to swim and walk the beach’s au naturel, but not at restaurants dining tables.

Getting back on topic, please excuse the segue. We left Zipolite by a $5 dollar cab ride to Puerto Angel. Puerto Angel is a quaint beach town with more commercialism then Zipolite and also a bit subdued due to it probably being during the week and I’m not sure, maybe it’s because tourism is a bit down thus the lack of activity. We also swam at PA, had dinner on the beach and shortly thereafter caught another collectivo taxi to Pochutla where we caught another bus back to our rented Huatulco condo and said goodnight to a full day of fun, adventure, and exercise, I slept like a log.

Excuse the length of this post but bus traveling Hwy 200 with intermittent back road exploring was fun and without incident. In fact, it was allot of fun meeting the locals and tasting a bit of the atmosphere the chicken lady brought into our lives through what is considered the norm traveling small town back roads off Hwy. 200. Please excuse our foolishness in not heeding alarms and warnings and although it may sound a bit cavalier, I guess we can just considered ourselves lucky to be writing about it now with a good feeling about our whole experience. This is the Mexico we love to travel and experience. There is more to come and we will post it in the Southern Mexico forum.

(This post was edited by esperanza on Feb 23, 2010, 4:45 PM)